Last Chance
by MystryGAB
Summary: A little over 4 years after the finale, House and Cuddy meet again.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the product of a prompt from Veronique. It's the start of a short fic (only a few chapters), but I hope you enjoy. It begins a little over 4 years after the finale. _

_Disclaimer: I believe Huddy actually could have been a catalyst to explore the characters on a deeper, fundamental level and not just as a plot device for a return to addiction and so-called "fun." Obviously I'm not connected with the show. _

**Last Chance – Prologue**

"We need to get four into the burn unit, chest x-ray in five, cat-scan in eight and get the lab techs down here," she said, handing Nurse Amy the a stack of orders and transfers.

"There's another ambulance coming in," Amy said.

"God," she groaned. "How many more?"

"They said it's the last."

The emergency room was chaos, packed with victims and family members from a major pile-up on highway 52. There were seven casualties, but the number injured had been growing for hours. This was not the night for her to fill in for her friend. From now on, she'd reconsider any requests for favors involving taking a shift in the ER.

"Please," a young woman on a gurney cried out behind her. "The man who saved me, is he okay? No one will tell me. Please, I need to know he's okay."

"We haven't heard anything," she heard Nurse Lyn answer as she took the woman's vitals. "Try to calm down,"

"I saw him fall," the woman cried. "He wouldn't stop. He kept helping everyone. I saw him fall. He saved us."

The patient was clearly in shock.

"There was a hero onsite," Amy explained. "He apparently offered some pretty impressive aid. Several of the patients are asking about him."

"Is he in the next ambulance?"

"I'm guessing," Amy said, but she didn't have time to say any more before the doors slid open and another gurney was pushed in from the ambulance that had just arrived. A room had already been assigned and instructions provided over the radio, so the patient was immediately pushed toward the empty room.

She caught a glimpse of him from a distance. He was balding, but what little hair that remained was almost completely gray. He was thin and tall, his feet hanging slightly off the mattress. She frowned as she followed them down the hall. There was something very familiar about him, something that brought with it a presentiment and foreboding she tried to ignore.

The paramedic provided his vitals and all the necessary details regarding what they knew of his condition. She looked over the details as he spoke. This was the hero. He'd been in one of the cars involved and had been injured, but had spent his time rescuing and treating the other victims until help could arrive. He'd assisted the emergency teams until the last victim was loaded then had succumbed to his own injuries. He'd been coming in and out of consciousness throughout the ride to the hospital.

"He's complaining of abdominal pain," the medic finished his summary as they entered the small room and faced the patient. "Last time he woke he said he was a recovering addict. Wanted to make certain we didn't pump him with anything that would set him back."

Her heart skipped a beat as she looked across the room. There was suddenly a deafening ringing in her ears as her heart started up again, pounding, racing. Her knees were going weak as a numb sense of separateness overtook her body, a kind of dissociative experience she hadn't felt for years. She broke out in a cold sweat and suddenly felt as if she might vomit. The blood drained from her face as she stared at the ghost who'd haunted her for so many years, the man she both loved and hated with an annihilatory passion.

"Dr. Cuddy?" She heard someone call her name. She couldn't respond. She was plummeting down a black hole, sucked into an abyss of memories she'd tried so hard to eradicate from her mind, her heart.

"Pull the chair over here," she heard someone say. "Sit her down."

She grabbed the door frame for support, determined not to fall, not to give way to the vulnerability only he could effect.

Dazed and trembling she could only stare at the unconscious man in the bed in front of her.

House.


	2. Chapter 2

_Such a nice response to the Prologue deserves a little extra... :-)_

_Disclaimer: Still not connected with show._

**Last Chance - Chapter 1**

He was in pain. Ironically it wasn't his leg, although it ached. After so many years he'd come to anticipate that pain, and yet now all he felt was his chest and stomach. Definitely his stomach. He had shooting pain in his abdomen.

He could hear the hushed whispers beneath the beeping of the monitors and the pounding in his head. He was in a hospital.

His thoughts were foggy, his memory vague and distant. Concussion. He must have a concussion. And contusions on his chest. The seat belt. And airbag. His cheek was burned. He winced as a pain shot through his stomach again. He fought to open his eyes. It was a struggle. He grunted as another pain shot through him. He needed an MRI.

"Can you hear me?"

_God, not again._ He was hearing her voice again.

"House, open your eyes."

It was so clear. So close. Comforting. Agonizing.

"House?"

He grimaced. He wanted to see her. He always wanted to see her. But she was an illusion. A dream. She was always a dream.

"Can you open your eyes?"

As soon as he opened his eyes, she'd be gone. The dreaded reality he'd come to know.

He forced his lids open, flinching against the ting of pain behind his eyeballs. The light was blinding; he squinted against it.

"Can you hear me?"

_My God._

The fog seemed to melt away. It was her. It was Cuddy. Not dream Cuddy, but real Cuddy. Older, yet still remarkably beautiful. She was leaning over him, shining a light in his eyes checking his reflexes.

"Am I dead?" His voice was hoarse.

"You'd feel better if you were," she answered.

Cuddy. Stunning. Focused. Controlled. Aloof.

His vision cleared slightly and he took his time looking at her, relishing this chance to see her again, to be in her presence. Her hair was dark and curly, styled naturally, but colored. He could see signs of gray sprinkled along the roots. She wore a minimal amount of make-up, her lips almost bare as she lightly bit on her lower lip. There were additional lines along her eyes, and her jaws were a hollower than when he last saw her, but she looked amazing. And her eyes…thinly shuttered, yet cautious and afraid. Captivating.

"Do you remember what happened?"

She was wearing a purple blouse beneath her lab coat, low-cut as always, showcasing her still fabulous cleavage. God, she was beautiful.

"House?" She touched his should and he looked down at her small, manicured hand. A surge of warmth shot through him at her touch. How could she still have so much power over him?

"House, can you hear me?"

"Crash," he finally answered her. "Pile-up."

She nodded. "Are you in pain?"

How often had he imagined seeing her again? He'd fought the desire to find her, seek her out. He knew that wasn't what she needed; it wasn't what she deserved. She'd run away from him. He'd let her go. It was the right thing to do, even if it meant she haunted his dreams, his waking thoughts. His crimes against her had become his albatross, the shame his cross to bear. He'd long ago accepted she was a past he'd never reconcile.

Yet here she stood as she did so long ago, his doctor, treating him in a crisis, ignoring the past in the face of duty. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to say. But she seemed so reserved and distant, a direct contrast to the concern in her voice.

"I'm dead," he told her. He had to be. There's no way she was really here. No way had fate finally worked in his favor. There was no way this was real.

"You see a case of bourbon and a room of busty strippers?"

He heard the nurses gasp. They stared at Cuddy with shocked expressions, but House felt a jolt of adrenaline shoot through his veins. She was taunting him. That meant she wasn't so distant. She wasn't the consummate professional. That was promising, wasn't it?

"Even better," he said, his voice carrying a ting of awe that was quite authentic. "I see you."

She rolled her eyes. He felt a sense of excitement wash over him.

"Call the morgue," she said to the nurse. "The hero's dead."

His eyes dropped to her cleavage. "You're dressed," he announced. "All that work and I still didn't make it to Heaven."

"Still alive and still an ass."

He heard one of the nurses gasp as Cuddy glared at him. God, he'd missed this, missed her. He released an airy chuckle. Not a good idea. The pain increased in his abdomen when he moved. It suddenly occurred to him he probably deserved the pain. After all he'd done to her, to so easily fall back into teasing and innuendo was actually insufferable. He should be apologizing, trying to explain. And yet she'd started it hadn't she? She'd teased him.

Curious.

"How bad is your pain?"

"Ten."

"You hurt that bad?" she tried to clarify, clearly concerned.

"No," he grinned mischievously. "I was talking about my other pain. You're a ten."

The muscle in her jaw flexed.

"Give him a catheter and an enema," she said to the nurse, who looked back and forth between them wide-eyed and uncertain.

"Oooh, you're so quick to get in my pants," he suggested, fully aware he was pushing the limits and yet unable to stop himself.

The nurse moved to the supply cabinet and began removing supplies.

_Shit!_

"She's not serious," he called to the nurse. "She's just saying I'm full of shit. That was not a real order."

"Are you sure?" Cuddy asked, blinking her eyes innocently.

Was he? He was at her mercy. She had every right to pull something on him, to thoroughly jerk him around. But she wouldn't. Not this way. She'd made an oath to do no harm.

"I trust you."

"I trusted you once too," she said. "Maybe it will turn out better for you."

House gulped. Okay, this was more along the lines of what he expected, deserved. She had trusted him, trusted him with her life, her heart, her child. He looked away, uncomfortable and ashamed.

"You going to answer my questions appropriately now?"

"It's a six," he told her his pain level. "The pain is sharp. It comes and goes, and fluctuates between a six and eight. Now call off the demons before they initiate me into your den of torture."

Cuddy gestured for the nurse to stop and turned back to House.

"We can give you…"

"No," he bit out, suddenly more interested in maintaining his sobriety than creating a break-through with Cuddy.

Their eyes locked. It was as if the years apart faded. She understood. She always understood. Even after all this time and distance they could communicate with just a glance.

"House, you may have internal bleeding," she said gently. "You may need surgery. Pushing through the pain isn't beneficial. You know we have to work around it. You know there are options."

He did know. He just didn't like it. He didn't like anything that risked the addiction again. He'd been clean for too long. He didn't want to fall again. He didn't want to go back there. He never wanted to go back there.

"How long have you been clean?"

"Almost four years."

Cuddy looked over at the nurse and nodded. She seemed to understand the instruction and left the room.

_Dammit!_ She'd obviously already given instructions and was just waiting for him to understand and face the decision. She was still so efficient. She could still anticipate his needs.

"Can you tell me how many fingers you see?" Cuddy held her hand in front of his face as she continued to examine him.

"Three," he said. "And no ring."

She ignored him.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Minnesota," he answered. "Is this Mayo?" Based on where the crash had occurred, he could calculate the Mayo Clinic was the closest hospital.

"Yes. You're in the emergency room."

"You keeping them on such a tight-budget you have to cover ER shifts?"

"I'm not the administrator," she said.

He waited for more information. She didn't give it.

He watched as she wrote in his chart. She was shutting down, putting the distance between them that had seemed to so naturally diminish when he'd opened his eyes. He wasn't surprised.

"Are you on any meds?"

"Paxil."

She arched a brow, but didn't look at him.

"No blood pressure or blood thinners?"

"No," he said. She'd pushed her hair off her shoulders and he could now read her name tag. "You're Head of Endocrinology?"

"Are you having any difficulties breathing?" Okay. She wasn't going to give up any information.

"Not any more than usual."

She looked at him then. "You normally have breathing problems?"

"You've always left me breathless."

She scowled and looked back down at the chart.

"You have a concussion and some bad bruising," she said. "Your O2 is low, which is a little concerning and we need to get you down for an MRI of the chest and stomach. I'm going to admit you overnight, but maybe longer depending on the results."

He watched her closely as she talked with the nurse who'd just come back into the room. She was so calm, in complete control, while he was nervous and anxious, on the brink of spiraling down an emotional vortex. It was so frustrating, infuriating. He wanted to break that hard shell, to know that she too felt vulnerable and exposed. He tried to push the feelings aside. They hadn't served him well in the past. They'd destroyed him, destroyed them both.

A movement from the nurse caught his attention. She was fidgeting, anxious and watchful as she listened to the instructions being given. She had the same wide-eyed and skittish expression as the other nurse. In fact, everyone who came in the room seemed to be looking at Cuddy as if they'd never seen her before. It was puzzling, since they seemed to know her well enough to read her gestures and nods. Something was obviously different about the way she was acting, something puzzling and disorienting. The thought was encouraging to House; maybe she wasn't so unaffected.

She touched his forearm and he felt the warmth spread all the way up his arm and across his chest. It had been an unconscious move, but she jerked away as if scalded. She'd felt the spark, too. Whatever walls she put up and boundaries she enforced, that electricity that pulsed between them remained unfettered.

"Try to relax," she said in a calm tone. He ignored her tone and focused on her. She wasn't calm at all. "You're going to be fine. We'll work through it."

"We?"

She stared blankly at him. He stared back, hoping she'd respond and pick up the gauntlet. She didn't. Instead she seemed to pale. He swallowed hard, the disappointment a bitter taste in his mouth and soul.

"Yeah, that's what I figured," he said sadly. "I made sure of that, didn't I?"

Her spine stiffened and she stood taller, fortifying her invisible defenses. She grit her teeth and controlled her breathing as she pushed back her shoulders and stood tall. He'd awakened the tigress and he flinched against the cold steel he saw shimmering in her eyes as she averted them. She was fierce.

"You'll have a hospital generalist assigned to your case," she said, keeping to script even as her voice hardened. "They'll take care of you once you leave the ER."

"You look beautiful."

"In the meantime, we'll get you down for that MRI."

"I always loved when you played doctor."

She flinched. It was something. He had to break through. This was his chance.

"Use the call button if you need anything," she said as she handed him the remote.

"I need you."

"Stop it!" She snapped, eyes wild and glossy as she glared at him. "I'm a doctor. You're a patient. That's all you are to me and it's all you will ever be. Don't pretend otherwise."

Ouch!

"Can't I even apologize?"

"The statute of limitation ran out on that a long time ago."

He recoiled, silently watching as she finished making notes in the chart. She was going to walk out and he'd never see her again. He'd never get this chance again.

"I am sorry," he said. "I know it doesn't change anything, but…"

"You're here for medical treatment, not absolution."

He sucked in air, feeling the blow low in his stomach. There would never be absolution for him. He knew that better than anyone.

"Wilson was right," he said. "You were my last chance at happiness."

She winced and her eyes filled with tears. She turned away from him, quickly moving toward the door. He couldn't let her leave. She couldn't just walk away.

"Can you at least tell me how you're doing? How Rachel is doing?" He called out. She froze. "I realize I don't have a right to ask. But you're going to walk out that door and transfer my case to another doctor and I'll never see you again. I'd just like to know. I need to know."

She wanted to leave, to walk out the door and not look back. But his voice was so despondent, and she was reeling from his last comment. She couldn't think.

She turned to stare at him searching his expression, sorting through her own response. She'd been through a gamut of emotions in the last few minutes. The shock of seeing him again, the fear he was hurt and the anger that she cared. The unsettling way she'd quickly fallen back into the old repartee, and her determination to remain professional in spite of the rage and sorrow that threatened to overtake her. Then the "I'm sorry"…and the mention of Wilson. Wilson.

Cuddy could feel herself teetering on the edge. She needed to leave, to get away from him as soon as possible. But there was something in the way he was reaching out to her, pleading for a chance to talk. He was desperate; she was afraid. She was afraid to stay and afraid to leave.

She'd caught his words: 'I'll never see you again.' She somehow knew what they meant. He wasn't going to follow her, relentlessly seek her out. He hadn't all these years. Just because a freak accident had caused their paths to intersect again didn't mean that would change. He would respect her boundaries, keep his distance. There would be no need to look over her shoulder, fearful of his next move, his next shock. He was accepting that this one moment in time was the only chance he'd have to speak with her, be with her. It was admirable and gracious. It was so unlike the House she knew. The disappointment she felt at this realization was unexpected.

"We're okay," she finally said. Her jaw was stiff, but her eyes went soft. "Rachel's in the second grade. She's a little too curious. She gets into trouble easy, but she's great. She's amazing."

"She's smart."

She grinned, not at him – he wasn't so delusional - but out of pride for her daughter. "She is."

"Are you happy?" He had to ask.

She averted her eyes. Talking about Rachel was easy. Talking about herself…

"I'm okay," she answered simply then turned away from him.

He wanted to stop her, to beg her to stay. He wanted to explain what had happened, to tell her what he'd done and how he felt. He wanted a chance to talk with her, to really talk with her. But how? She had no reason to stay. He had nothing to keep her here.

She paused in the doorway. He held his breath, expectant and hopeful in spite of himself.

Cuddy turned to look at him again, her eyes pooling with unshed tears. She shouldn't do this. She didn't need to do this.

"Will you tell me about Wilson?" she asked. She couldn't help herself. "If I come see you when you're settled in a room, will you tell me..."

His chest tightened at the sadness in her eyes. He'd destroyed her life. He'd destroyed everything that was good between them. And he'd taken Wilson from her. He'd never really thought of that until just this minute.

"Yes," he whispered. "Anything you want."

A pain shot through his stomach as she walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for all of the enthusiasm and excitement over this story. I can't thank you enough for all of the lovely comments and reviews._

_Disclaimer: Remains the same. Not connected._

**Last Chance – Chapter 2**

He hadn't seen her again.

She'd transferred his case as soon as she'd walked out of the room. When the MRI revealed a small bleed in his abdomen the general surgeon had taken over. The bleed was immediately repaired, but she hadn't come to see him. Not in recovery. Not when he'd been moved to a private room. He'd waited and hoped. He should have known better.

He'd slept through the night. Now he was only half-heartedly watching the cooking channel as his thoughts drifted.

Why had he even expected her to show? It had been a moment of weakness after all, the shock of seeing him, the memory of Wilson.

The look on her face was haunting him. Wilson had been her friend too. Of course she would miss him. But what he'd seen on her face was a pain beyond loss, or even a remembered trauma. It was a look he understood too well since it stared back at him in the mirror on a regular basis. It was the look of shame. But what did she have to be ashamed of? She'd done what any sane woman would do. She was right to leave. She should have never given him a chance in the first place. Not then.

Maybe it was something that had happened since she'd left; something that had happened since they'd been apart that left her with the weight of humiliation. But then why would seeing him trigger it? Why would the mention of Wilson bring it to life?

No, it was about him. About what he'd done. Her interminable guilt had probably distorted the event in her head. She'd probably spent years blaming herself. He couldn't have anticipated that? How long had he known her? It was just another element reminding him of the horrors of his crime, how deep and vicious the wound he'd left had been.

How often had he tried to excuse himself? He hadn't been in his right mind. He'd still been reeling from the test drugs, from the resulting tumors he'd attempted to remove, and the surgery to correct the damage. Not to mention the vicodin. It always came back to the vicodin, just like he had the night of the break-up when overnight he'd gone from recovering from a fearful relapse to enthusiastically embracing a painful addiction.

Seeing her through the window that day, so relaxed and beautiful, so together…so unlike him. He'd lost it. He'd just wanted her to hurt, to feel the loss the way he did. He'd wanted her to feel the same pain she'd given him when she'd walked away from him and what they had, what they should have had. He'd justified it, minimized and ignored it. Over the years, he'd tried to move on from it, but it was a shame that remained a backdrop in his life.

Those last months with Wilson had only made it more real. Everything he did right during that time only accentuated all he'd done wrong with Cuddy. Every fear he'd had, every bit of hurt and anger he'd experience, every sacrifice he'd made…all the mourning and loss…alone…it had all been a reverberation of the shame that had grown toxic.

Wilson had made him promise to take care of himself.

"You've got to do what is right and not what's going to hurt you the most," he'd said. "Punishing yourself isn't going to change anything. It will never give you peace."

Wilson had done what dying people tend to do. He'd found perspective. He'd tried to pay that forward. It was difficult. They both knew he'd destroyed his chance at happiness. Comfort would be his only option, and attaining that would be at a great price.

House had called his lawyer as soon as Wilson had died and they'd made arrangements for him to turn himself in after the funeral. It was the only way. If he wanted to build a new life, he had to reclaim his old one and face the music. Living on the run wasn't an option.

He hadn't come to the courts in arrogance or with a hidden agenda this time around. He'd come willing to take responsibility and let the system work for justice, not as a weapon of self-hate.

His lawyer had cleared him of the accusations that broke the original parole. It was relatively easy once they'd established fingerprints could not be obtained from sewage-soaked paper. Faking his death and avoiding the charges hadn't been so easy.

Surprisingly, the judge had been sympathetic, quite understanding in fact. He'd declared he could not agree to the maximum penalty the prosecution was requesting because there was no insurance fraud involved. He noted there were extenuating circumstances that created impaired judgment. He'd given House the minimum three years imprisonment with no option for early release.

"That's a far-away look for the man of the hour."

House turned to look at who was entering the room. The gait belt around his waist said he was with Physical Therapy even though House couldn't read his name badge.

"I'm no hero," House mumbled. He was tired of hearing it. Tired of people talking about what had happened at the crash site. He hadn't done anything special. He'd done what any doctor would do if they'd been at the crash site.

The young man laughed. "You're a hero of a different kind now, my man," he said as he came to stand by the bed. "To hell with saving lives, you cracked the shell of Dr. Cuddy. You're a legend!"

House frowned at him, puzzled.

"My name's LaMont," he said. "I'm the PT who's going to work with you and you're the man who's gonna give me the low-down on the ice queen. Because I have worked here for almost four years and that sexy sphinx is uncrackable."

House stared at LaMont. The boy clearly had a crush on Cuddy, but it seemed he was also puzzled by her. Some things never changed. Cuddy had always had admirers. He didn't see that changing anytime soon. She would break all the rules. She would not only defy aging, but all the stereotypes and prejudices surrounding it.

"She was a HE," House said. It had always been a favorite rumor.

The man's jaw almost hit the floor.

"For real?"

House stared at him blankly.

"Noooo," he moaned.

"No," House agreed and grinned. That was too easy.

LaMont floundered and then let out a deep, hearty laugh.

"Ah, man! You got me."

He liked this kid. He was a nice distraction from his morose thoughts.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get you up and take a walk around the floor."

LaMont went through the standard PT script, explaining the importance of getting out of bed as soon as possible after surgery, and guiding him through the proper sit to stand techniques.

"Do I look like I'm a PT virgin?" House snapped at him.

"That scar on your thigh says no; your file says Hell no! But I gotta do my job, man," he said. "You could make the time go faster by spillin' it. Tell me about Dr. Cuddy."

"What's the interest?"

"Please!" he said. "Everyone wants to know her story and no one can get in. And I mean no one. Except maybe her partner, but sometimes I wonder if she even knows. Believe me, a lot of men – and women – have tried to get in with her. She won't budge. Only thing we know is she has a daughter, was once an administrator, and she absolutely will not mix business with pleasure, if she even knows about pleasure. But what a waste if she doesn't!"

House held his expression. Cuddy had always been friendly with the staff, swapping hats from boss to mentor to friend with admirable ease. Granted, she'd only taken it to an intimate level with him, but she'd always been open to friendships with her staff. What Lamont was describing didn't sound like her at all.

"She won't let anyone close to her," he continued. "She doesn't come to staff parties or participate in any activities. And let me tell you, nothing fazes her. She is one cool lady."

House felt the edge of his mouth tilt in the beginning of a grin. She was cool under pressure, at least on the outside. She was the ultimate professional and admired leader in public, but in private she could worry and stress better than most. Not many people saw that side of her, not like he had.

"She's a control freak," House affirmed.

"She's more than that! She the Busty Abominable. No one gets to her," LaMont explained. "She's cold, and emotionless. There's never been a case that moves her, and I can tell you nothing gets past her. She'll cut off your balls with those laser eyes if you even think of saying anything 'inappropriate'."

LaMont had apparently been a victim of some disciplinary action on that front.

House frowned. Although he was amused by the pen names tagged on Cuddy, he didn't like what he was hearing. Cuddy wasn't cold and hard. She was soft, too soft. She cared about people. It had always driven him crazy. It had resulted in many arguments between them over the years: her defense of intrinsic value and the quality of life vs. logic and the math of medicine. And since when did she become such a hard nose about smack talk? What was that? She could dish with the best of them. That was one of the things they did best. It had been their foreplay.

"Then you come rolling into the ER and she almost passes out," LaMont continued. "She barely pulls it together before she's talking smack to you about cheerleaders and calling you an ass."

House frowned. He hadn't heard she'd almost fainted.

"You two had a thing, right?" he asked. "You're the man who planted a flag at that peak."

House flinched. He felt a sudden urge to protect her, not that she needed it. It sounded as if she had the intimidation factor down to an art. He didn't have a right, either. There was a reason she was keeping her past a secret, a reason she was putting on airs and maintaining distance. It was him, what he'd done to her.

He wasn't going to be the one to betray her, to give away her secrets. He wasn't going to be the one to break her, not again. He wouldn't reveal the magic behind the curtain either. Those memories were his, theirs. They were all he had left. He'd guard them to the end. She could be assured of that, even though she probably didn't know it.

That didn't mean he was going to miss the opportunity to learn a little bit about what she'd been doing these past few years. He was going to use the curiosity and gossip that existed within the walls of this hospital to gather all the intel he could on her. His time here would not be wasted.

"I'll answer your questions, but you're going to answer mine," House said as he grabbed the IV pole to roll with him. "Let's walk."

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

Cuddy flipped through the chart on the wall outside his room. She hadn't wanted to see him. She'd changed her mind a hundred times during the night and finally talked herself out of taking such a risk. It had been too easy to being with him again, teasing him, being angry, disappointed, alive. Even talking with him about Wilson…it would be too easy to open a door for him that needed to remain sealed. She couldn't risk her heart. She couldn't risk her self-respect.

But then she'd seen him as she had stepped off the elevator to do perform her rounds. He was walking with PT, walking slow and steady. Most notably, walking without a limp! How was that possible?

She looked through the surgeon's notes, quickly finding the patient history and read through the details for the years she'd missed. Her eyes widened.

_Functional muscle transplant. Nerve graft. Wnt7a protein. Rudnicki stimulant. Stem cell regeneration. Oh. My. God._

Cuddy looked up as they came around the corner. She couldn't take her eyes off him. She hadn't allowed herself to really study him in the emergency room, too shocked at first, then too focused on doing her job. To be honest, she'd forced herself not to drink him in, determined not to give into the rush of emotions pushing past her reserves.

His hair was thin and unkept, his eyes still crystal blue. He had more lines along his face that gave him an even more rugged look, and he still wore a scruffy beard, though it was more salt than pepper now. Her eyes slid down the length of his neck, over his Adam's apple and across his collarbone. His skin still had that pink flush she'd always found surprisingly sexy. But then, she'd always found his sex appeal defied all logic.

Her eyes dropped to his legs. He could walk, freely and easily, without weakness and pain. He was no longer trapped in the limitations of a handicap. The file said his thigh muscle was functioning at 80%. He could do so much at that level, and there was an opportunity for continued improvement in strength and functionality. She felt her tears pool in her eyes as she thought of the significance of such freedom on his life.

She watched him walk. It was an uneasy gunslinger stride with an exaggerated roll of his heels and push from his hip, yet a childlike flip to his feet. She was reminded of the boy she'd met at Michigan, the cocky boy with the Machiavellian grin. A smile slipped over her face.

"Too bad these gowns don't open in the font," he said as they approached. He'd seen her reading the file, realized what she was processing. "You'd get a better view."

"Or not," she quipped.

LaMont chuckled beside him.

"We're done here Dr. Cuddy," he said. "Let me get him back into bed and he'll be all yours."

"Or you can get me back in bed and I'll still be all yours." House waggled his brow; she rolled her eyes. It was happening again. It was too easy to be with him, too easy to forget all of the reasons it wasn't easy to be with him.

"I need to do my rounds," she said.

House frowned. "I thought you were coming to talk."

She looked down at the floor. She did want to talk to him. There was no reason to deny it, and she wasn't' sure she could fight it. There were just too many questions; too much she wanted to know.

"I'll be back," she said.

"She's working on my hormones," she heard him yell as she walked away.

It was hard not to laugh at his words, at the play on her specialty and their banter. It was even harder to ignore the whispers and curious looks from the staff and patients around the floor. He was here. In her hospital. Shaking up her life _again_, making her the star of hospital gossip _again_.

She couldn't stop thinking of the paradox of it all as she walked the halls from patient to patient, task to task. The whispers were all around her. She felt the eyes following her, heard the laughter and the mocking. By the time Cuddy finished her rounds, she was ready to break.

In the privacy of her office, she did.

That's where her friend found her. Cuddy was sitting on the edge of the sofa crying hopelessly into a throw pillow when she felt Meaghan's arms slide around her, holding her tight. She wept until she couldn't breathe, until the sobs turned into heaves. She cried until there was a certain threat of hyperventilation. Only then did she begin to pull herself together.

Meaghan handed her a tissue and smoothed her hair away from her face. "You okay?"

Cuddy nodded.

"I think we need to get some water in you. That kind of cry will cause dehydration."

Cuddy tried to grin. She failed.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

Meaghan handed her a bottle of water from the small refrigerator behind her desk. "There's nothing to apologize about," she said. "You're long overdue for a good cry, sweetie."

Cuddy took a few swallows and watched as her friend took the chair across from her. They'd been partners for three years now, but friends since college. They'd lost contact over the years, but when she'd moved to Minnesota they'd quickly reconnected and formed an easy alliance. Within a few months, they'd opened a practice together.

"This about the man in the ER?"

Cuddy frowned. "You heard."

"Of course I heard," she smiled gently. "A man with dreamy blue eyes enters the ER, staring down your blouse and flirting with a boldness that's more inappropriate than flattering, and the ice queen turns into a fiery devil landing zingers on him at every turn. He's a legend, and you're an even bigger mystery than before."

Cuddy stared at the tissue she had in her hands, nervously folding and unfolding it. "It's House."

"House?" Meaghan repeated. "As in Greg House?"

Cuddy nodded.

"From Michigan?"

She nodded again.

"The disappearing diagnostician?"

Cuddy nodded yet again. Meaghan collapsed back into the chair.

"I really hope you want to talk about it," she said. "Because I'm going to find it really hard to respect your privacy on this one."

Cuddy sighed. She'd never talked to anyone about House. In fact, for years she'd avoided talking about her years at PPTH beyond the basic professional experiences. It had been too painful, too humiliating.

Meaghan had never pushed it, even though she'd long suspected there was an epic story to be told. She'd decided early on to honor Cuddy's need for privacy, respect the boundaries in their friendship and build trust between them. She'd suspected the day would come when that trust would be needed.

"You got a few hours?" Cuddy asked her, the sadness and defeat deeply etched on her features.

It looked like the time had come.

"Honey, I got all night."


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you for your comments and reviews. You all are amazing. _

_Disclaimer: I'm not connected with the show._

**Last Chance – Chapter 3**

Cuddy told her their story. It was the first time she'd ever really shared it with anyone.

They had picked-up Rachel and gone to Meaghan's, where her husband, Charles, could watch their daughters while they talked. The girls were the same age and often played together. This was a special night for them. Cuddy simply let Meaghan and Charles take charge. She hadn't objected to the plans at all; she felt fragile and afraid, and needed the time. Letting someone else care for her was a relief.

So the two women settled in for a talk. There on Meaghan's sofa with a bottle of wine and an attentive friend, Cuddy remembered the one night stand in Michigan, the hurt and disillusionment, the shock at finding he'd actually wanted something to happen with her but had been expelled. She told how he'd burst back into her life with an infarction, of the options she'd given and Stacy's heartbreaking decision. She talked of how she'd hired him, of the years he'd made her job hell and her life exciting as he'd broken every rule and teased her mercilessly. She relived his breakdown, her fears and his changes, and her determination to move away from him even if it was with a man she didn't really love. She talked about the start of their relationship, the break-up, and the traumatic weeks that followed. She explained that fateful day she'd taken out a restraining order on him then walked away from the life she'd known and loved.

Meaghan quietly listened, only interrupting for clarification.

"I handed in my notice the next day," Cuddy said.

"You were afraid?"

"I was humiliated," she admitted. "He'd spent years undermining my authority, mocking me, harassing me by most definitions. But I accepted it as our game. It was what we did."

"It was fun," Meaghan said.

"Yes," she agreed. "But it also set me up for a lot of ridicule. I was always defending myself and him. After he yelled from the balcony that day that I'd slept with him, I had to fight even harder for respect."

"But I thought he was having hallucinations," she said.

"He was," Cuddy said. "That doesn't change what he did. It doesn't change people's reactions. He was the mad doctor, the wild card on the staff. He'd lost all respect and he brought me down with him. And I not only continued to protect his job, but I welcomed him into my bed. Everyone said I was crazy."

"They didn't understand," her voice was calm and easy. It held no judgment.

"No, they didn't."

"You forgave him."

"I always forgive him." There was numbness to her voice as she said it.

"Even now?"

The tears rolled down her cheeks again. "The minute I saw him lying there unconscious, I realized how easy it would be to forgive him."

"And you hate yourself for it."

"I don't know how I can keep falling back into that trap," she said. "I can't stand that I'm that woman who keeps going back for more and more abuse."

"Don't you think you might be too hard on yourself? On him?" Meaghan asked. "Is he an abuser? Is he violent?"

"He ran his car into my home!"

"That was over the top and violent, yes," Meaghan agreed. "But from what you've told me, he was in a pressure cooker for years before it finally blew."

"That makes it okay?" Cuddy looked at her, shocked.

"No," Meaghan quickly amended. "I'm not making any judgment calls, Lisa. It just seems it's very easy to focus on the emotions and the events, but ignore the questions."

Cuddy frowned, confused and interested in this new perspective.

"Why did he crash into your home?"

"He was hurt and angry," Cuddy said. "He'd been holding it in."

"Too easy," Meaghan said flippantly. "Why was he holding it in? Why was he acting out? Not just after the break-up, but for years. From what you've said, he'd been doing it for years, it just escalated at the end. My question is: why was he acting out? He wanted something; he was demanding something he wasn't getting, something he really needed. What was it?"

Cuddy frowned, beginning to follow her train of thought.

"Here's a man who always colored outside the lines," Meaghan said. "He was always brilliant and socially challenged, obnoxious and rude one minute, tender and discerning the next. That complexity was part of his intrigue even in college. It sounds like he became angry and bitter after the infarction, which is understandable under the circumstances, but even then he wasn't violent. Correct me if I'm wrong."

Cuddy shook her head. "No, he was never violent."

"So it hasn't been about you protecting yourself from a pattern of domestic violence? You haven't been terrorized and threatened?"

"Some people would yes."

"I don't care what others say," Meaghan said. "I'm asking you. Did you feel afraid of him? Did you feel victimized?"

"No," she admitted. "I was always braced for crazy games and unpredictable responses, but I was never afraid of him."

Meaghan nodded, satisfied with the answers and now more focused on her point.

"You two always had chemistry," she said. "Not just sexually, but intellectually and emotionally. And you've always been an enigma so it makes sense. But somewhere along the way, you became his savior. The scales were tipped and something switched in your dynamic. It sounds like from that minute on he became more like a frustrated child, requiring boundaries and structure, but needing his own place. He was desperate for attention…from you. But even that's too easy. What did he need so much?"

Cuddy frowned, puzzling over the question.

"I don't know," Cuddy whispered.

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

House couldn't sleep. He stood in the dark, staring out the window of his hospital room.

She was avoiding him. He couldn't stop thinking about it, wishing it weren't true. But, if his mission to obtain information about her had revealed anything, it was that Cuddy was running, hiding. She was haunted by her past, tormented by painful memories. She was paralyzed with fear, and perhaps even loathing. It only made sense. He'd done that to her. He'd done that to himself.

But he'd spent three long years facing his demons. There was nowhere to hide in those prison walls, and no pretending. There were different rules on the inside, different social structures. It was confusing and intimidating. It was lonely. Worse than the first time when he'd been more determined to prove the point that he was noble enough to pay for his crimes than actually sorry for them. This time he'd stayed away from trouble, followed directions and did everything he was told. Mostly he stayed busy in the infirmary. The judge had made arrangements with the warden to set him up in that job. He didn't know if it had been meant for additional punishment or as a safety precaution. It had been like permanent clinic duty. Complete hell.

Chase had contacted him a few times for help on difficult cases, but other than that he mostly dealt with wounds from prison fights, colds, viruses and malnutrition. And he was left with way too much time to think.

Over those years, he'd finally stopped fighting the truth about himself. He'd always been bold and determined to face the truths in life and in others, but avoided the dark secrets of his soul. He'd never fully accepted the guilt of his actions, other than how the results impacted him. His shame was experienced as self-contempt, as a self-destructive force sabotaging his every move. It was like a rat eating away at the skin of a prisoner in a darkened dungeon. Unfortunately, it was seen from the outside as rebellion and narcissism.

It had started as a child when he'd never been able to please his father, when he'd been embarrassed and humiliated at every turn. It had grown through the years with every failure, every emotional and physical blow. He'd accepted it was there and mocked it in himself as he would anyone else who exhibited such weakness. In spite of the mythos he'd created, he hadn't been able to hide it from the people he loved, the people who mattered. Stacy had known. She'd fought it through the infarction and the bitter anger that followed until she couldn't fight it any more. Wilson had endured it, guiding and manipulating him in an attempt to adjust the course. He'd been a patient and enduring friend, even if more than a little enabling through his own subversive self-contempt. Cuddy had accepted it, but believed he was so much more than the damage he determined to elevate. She'd believed in him. Even when he'd been emotionally pummeling her for breaking his heart she'd believed he'd pull out of it, believed they'd find their way. She couldn't help it; she was cynical idealist.

When he'd first heard she handed in her resignation, he'd felt relieved. He could face the contempt from everyone else in that hospital, but not her. As often as he'd dreamed of seeing her again, he couldn't bring himself to really consider how he would handle it. Or if he could. Discovering he wouldn't have to had made it easier. And yet it was impossible not to feel her in the halls, in the voices, in the many changes throughout the hospital. He felt her in every decision he made, and especially in the ones he couldn't make. It was ironic really. In the one violent act he'd felt certain would effectively strip her from his life, he'd permanently embossed her in it. People don't change. But everything had changed. Everything but Wilson. Then that had changed too. Wilson was dead.

"Hi."

He turned, startled and surprised to see her.

"Hi," he answered.

He moved over to the bed and pressed a button, turning on the light so he could see more than just the outline of her body. She was wearing a t-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes. She wasn't working the night shift. She'd come from home.

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door frame, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her face.

"You should be in bed."

He shrugged. It's not as if insomnia was a new thing for him. "So should you," he said. "You're here late."

"Rachel's spending the night with a friend," she said, as if that explained the late visit.

They stared at each other awkwardly. She was reminded of the time she came to see him after he resigned when he got out of Mayfield. He'd been so open and honest then, she'd seen the change, but had still walked away, afraid to give the change a chance.

"You look good."

"Do I?" His eyes searched hers. "I feel good," he agreed. "Except for the stitches."

Her eyes slid down his body. "Is it fully functional?" she asked.

"You know better than anyone," he teased.

"Your leg," she scowled.

"Yes," he grinned. "I have some nerve twinges, some aches and pains now and then, but it's fully functional."

She was in awe. "I read about the research when the results of the animal studies were released. I didn't realize they'd gone through human trials."

"I was part of the preliminary. I did it by the book time," he explained. "It was a success on all the participants. We're performing the second trial now."

"We?"

He shrugged. "I joined the research team."

"Really?" she said. "You're not practicing medicine?"

"Not officially," he answered.

Cuddy nodded, but frowned. It was sad to have such a brilliant medical mind going to waste.

House flinched at her expression. He hated pity. Never more so than it coming from her he discovered.

"I consult on cases," he quickly defended. "It's better that way, I think. I'm not connected with a hospital so I don't have to deal with the bureaucracy. I can just solve the puzzles without worrying about any of the expectations."

How often had she pushed demands on him? She'd done more than enforce hospital policy; she'd imposed rules meant to bring out his humanity, to improve his bedside manner. There were so many things she'd accepted about him, and so many things she'd tried to "help". She never considered the pressure that might place on him.

"What are you thinking?" House softly asked, seeing how she'd seemed to drift away.

"The rape victim you treated," Cuddy surprised him by saying. "The one who would only talk to you."

House remembered. He just wasn't sure why she was thinking of her.

Cuddy could still see his face, hear his voice when she'd told him he did good in getting the girl to talk.

"_We have to help her, right?" _he'd said._ "Except we can't. We drag out her story. Tell each other that it'll help her heal. Feel real good about ourselves. But all we've done is make a girl cry."_

Is that what she had done? All the times she'd tried to help him, had it really done any good at all? Had it made things worse?

"I'm sorry I took him from you," House suddenly said.

Cuddy looked up at him, pulled from her trance by his words.

"He was your friend too," he said. "I ruined that."

_Wilson._

"No, you didn't," Cuddy said matter of factly. "He called me when he could…and he wrote to me."

"That's not the same."

Cuddy averted her eyes. It wasn't the same. He'd been forced to choose between them. At first, it had been easy to choose her. House hadn't been around and they'd both been so hurt and angry it was a natural selection. But when House had returned to the hospital, it had all shifted. Wilson had come to terms with what had happened, had forgiven him. House had been there; Cuddy hadn't. She hadn't blamed him. A part of her had expected it, even wanted it to happen. House needed him. His needs came first. She was nothing if not predictable.

"I missed him," she finally said. "I still do."

House looked away, his eyes sad and lonely. He still mourned Wilson. She could see that.

"I was surprised he chose a road trip," she said.

"You knew?" House frowned.

"That you'd faked your death? Yes. He told me."

House was stunned. He'd faked his death to escape prison so he could spend those months with Wilson. He'd left a clue for Foreman, but he didn't think anyone else had known. At least not until later, when he'd shown up at the funeral. But Wilson had told Cuddy? She'd known and never told anyone. She hadn't betrayed them.

"Motorcyles," she said. "I figured he was looking to kill himself. I never could see him on a motorcycle."

"He couldn't drive a go-cart, but he thought he was one of Hell's Angels"

Cuddy laughed. It was musical, and House smiled. There was nothing like the sound of her laughter.

"Where did you go?"

House told her about their trip, their trek down the coast then across the south to New Orleans and beyond. She drank in every detail, enjoying the tales and laughing at their antics. They were talking, and comfortable together. He felt happy.

He shared many anecdotes during the next hour. There were a lot of memories to share. He'd finally learned to appreciate the good times, to not squander them worrying when the bad would come. It had been memories that kept him alive, memories that gave him purpose and direction. He treasured the rare moments of peace. He knew instinctively he'd hold on to this memory, this time with her.

"He helped you get clean before you left?" Cuddy asked.

"No," he answered honestly. "We figured out how to get my fix on the road. It wasn't too difficult since he was sick."

Cuddy nodded and began to nervously pick at a spot on her jeans. There was so much they needed to talk about, so much they both had to say, but it wasn't so easy to segue into such a conversation.

"I was in prison," House said. "I was in prison when I got clean."

He was in prison when he'd finally accepted his father was wrong, when he could at last accept the words he'd never hear but could confidently accept as an impenetrable truth. He was right.

It wasn't the detox and therapy that brought him to the realization. It wasn't ghosts that haunted him from his past, or the dreams of what could have been. It wasn't the hurt, or the guilt, or the anger. It wasn't even the intense desire to die. It was something so surprisingly sweet and painful he could feel it grip his heart even now.

"I had an epiphany," he explained, his voice husky with emotion. "And because of it, I walked into a cold isolation room in the Princeton Plainsboro Prison and went through the most painful detox of my life."

"You didn't have medical help?" she asked, surprised and shaken by what he was saying. "You were alone?"

"I might as well have been," he said. "There was not a lot of help."

Cuddy closed her eyes against the image.

"You did this while you were still mourning."

She thought he'd done it as punishment, as a means of self-torture, not because he wanted to beat his addiction.

"It wasn't what you think," he said. "I mourned more than Wilson."

She opened her eyes and he caught her stare. It was important she hear him. Imperative that she understood.

"I mourned my dad, my childhood…I mourned us." He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "Most of all I mourned the man I wanted to be…the man I never could be."


	5. Chapter 5

_I wanted to get these chapters to you quickly, so I haven't had a chance to respond to all of the comments and reviews. I will though. Until then, I hope you enjoy this next installment. _

_For Maya & Veronique.  
_

_Disclaimer: You know I'm not involved with the show or David Shore._

**Last Chance – Chapter 4**

Cuddy couldn't concentrate. She'd been going over the same lab results for ten minutes and still had no idea what she was reading. He was driving her crazy.

They'd been interrupted last night when the tech came in to check his vitals. Cuddy had used it as an excuse to leave. She'd explained it was late – early morning actually – and she needed to get some sleep since she had appointments in just a few hours. The truth be known, she was so shaken by what he'd told her she'd needed time to recoup, regain her equilibrium and process all she'd learned.

Could it really be possible? Could he really have come to terms with his past? Quieted the demons that had tormented him for so long?

Stranger things had happened. Look at his leg!

Cuddy sighed and dropped the paperwork onto her desk. There was no reason to continue trying to work. She was too distracted.

His life had changed, and not just with the normal progression of time and tide. He was like Odysseus facing beasts and battles in a quest that wasn't of his choosing, but appeared to be his fate. It seemed he'd finally found his homecoming, his glory…but maybe not his own.

"_You were my last chance at happiness."_

She kept hearing his voice over and over in her mind. He believed that. She could hear it in his voice, see it in his expression. He'd given up ever finding happiness.

But he'd had it once. For a while. Hadn't he?

She wondered.

He said he'd been happy with her, but how could he have been? He was always afraid, always wondering when he'd do something wrong, when she'd walk away, when his failure would be complete.

They'd both been afraid, and their fears had paved the way for self-fulfilling prophecy. "This isn't going to work," he'd said. She'd glossed over his cynicism that day, telling him he was the most amazing man she'd ever known - as if that fixed everything. In the end they'd never addressed those fears, never talked about what made him so sure it would fail, what he needed to be certain it would succeed.

"_What did he need so much?" _

Meaghan's question was becoming her own.

What had he needed? She'd come to him. She'd told him she loved him, that she wanted a chance with him. She'd given up so much to start a life with him. But it had been a struggle from the very beginning. For both of them.

Maybe he'd found the answer. Maybe that was the epiphany he talked about, the thing that made him detox and face his demons.

"What are you doing here?"

Cuddy turned to find Meaghan coming through the door.

"In my office? During working hours? I couldn't guess," she responded sarcastically.

"I thought you'd be with House," she said as she came to sit in the chair in front of her desk.

Cuddy groaned. "We talked last night," she said. "And now I'm going crazy. He's taken over my mind just like he always did. It's infuriating."

"You didn't get your answers?"

"I'm not sure I even know all the questions." She ran her hand through her hair in frustration.

"He's so different, and yet he's the same," she explained. "He's regained the use of his leg, and he seems to have reconciled his past…And I think of how he was there for Wilson…I feel so happy for him, overwhelmed actually…But when we're together, it's just so easy to be us again, as if our relationship didn't result in the implosion of the century!"

"This bothers you." It was a statement, not a question. Cuddy caught Meaghan's confused expression and tried to explain.

"It makes me start thinking about the way we were, and then I start hoping and dreaming," she dropped her head to the back of the chair and stared up at the ceiling, tracing the tiles with her eyes. "I see he's changed, but even he would tell you people don't change, so I'm being an idiot. I'm setting myself up to be destroyed again. I can't do that. Not again."

Meaghan leaned forward and propped her elbows on her knees as she looked at Cuddy.

"Sometimes people go through a lot of pain, they walk away, time passes and wounds heal. They have peace. They learn a lesson and move on," Meaghan said. "But sometimes, time passes, wounds heal and there's no peace at all. There's just a desperate need and longing that never leaves."

Cuddy closed her eyes, recognizing she fell into that last category.

"I'm afraid," she whispered.

"Of what? Of him? You think he'll hurt you again? He'll drive a bulldozer this time?"

Cuddy frowned at her sarcasm, understanding the intent, but feeling a little hurt by the attempt to minimize what had happened.

Meaghan put her hands in the air, palms forward in a motion of surrender. "Sorry."

"I'm afraid I'll screw it up again…it wasn't all his fault," Cuddy admitted, but then she raised fiery eyes to her friend. "And I'm afraid of losing all credibility and self-respect again! I don't want to be the big joke around the hospital."

"What do you care what people think?" Meaghan asked, clearly puzzled. "You know people are always going to find something to talk about no matter what you do."

"Yeah, that's what I always said, until I lived it," she mumbled. "It's impossible to effectively do your job when you face that kind of derision."

Meaghan quietly observed her for a few moments.

"You need to do what you feel is right, Lisa," she finally said as she stood. "But I think you're misjudging yourself and everyone around you."

Cuddy looked up at her, surprised.

"We're always looking for that one great love," she said. "We're taught to dream of it in fairy tales first, thinking that love is safe and beautiful. It will conquer all the evil that attacks from the outside. Then we become teenagers and we learn that the dragons are actually inside, and love is all about pain and angst and a hope for something different. Then as adults we find it's all of that and more. It's passion and pain, joy and sorrow. The enemies are all over the place, the inside and the out. But we keep fighting because we want that happy ever after even though we know it's not perfect. It's torture…and it's thrilling. It's life."

Cuddy shook her head, puzzled and confused.

"Exactly where did this sermon come from?"

Meaghan laughed as she walked through the door.

"People always mock what they don't understand and what they want for themselves," she said. "And when an epic romance is being played out live in this hospital, you can't seriously expect people not to talk about it."

She opened the door and turned to look at Cuddy. "These past two days you've been wonderfully, painfully alive, Lisa," she said. "Do you really want to go back to being a walking corpse?"

Cuddy sat dumbfounded as she watched her friend exit and the door close behind her.

_Epic romance? Walking corpse?_

"Oh, God," she whispered.

She was alive. She wasn't cold, or numb. She was…

The door opened again and Meaghan popped her head through the opening.

"By the way," she said. "You'd better decide what you're going to do fast. He's being released as we speak."

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

House gripped the card in his hand. He'd thought she'd come. He'd thought they had at least the start of a breakthrough last night. But then the tech had come in and Cuddy had rushed to leave. He'd convinced himself she just needed a little more time. She'd come back to see him this morning.

She hadn't.

She'd done exactly what she'd said she would do. She'd come to ask about Wilson. It wasn't about him. It wasn't about them. He was an idiot to hope. He knew better. Hope was for sissies.

The cab pulled up in front of the hospital and he got up from the wheelchair.

"Good luck, sir," the volunteer said from behind him.

He mumbled a thank you. He wasn't up for niceties. He was sad and disappointed. There was so much he still wanted to say to her, and now he'd never get the chance. She wouldn't see him again, and he couldn't push it. He was determined to respect her decisions, her boundaries, even though everything in him wanted to track her down and pound at her defenses until she gave him a chance to explain…to make amends.

That would never happen. He was all out of chances.

House had just opened the cab door when Cuddy rushed out of the hospital.

"House!" she yelled to him.

He jerked around in shock.

"Hold one minute," House said to the cab driver. He didn't wait to see him nod, but turned to look at Cuddy.

She was out of breath from rushing to find him, to catch him before he left.

"What was the epiphany?" She asked in a breathy voice. House frowned.

"You said you had an epiphany and that's why you detoxed. What was the epiphany? I need to know."

He lowered his head and averted his eyes. She watched the muscle in his jaw move as he appeared to choose his words.

"Remember the day you were going into the hospital with the spot on your kidney, and Julia came to pick up Rachel?" He asked and waited for her to acknowledge the memory.

This wasn't at all what she was expecting, not that she knew what to expect, but she would never imagine it would start here. She felt wary, unsteady on her feet.

"I remembered the look on Rachel's face," he continued. "She was so frightened, so determined to be brave as she looked at me."

He shook his head, and Cuddy could tell he was remembering even now.

"I was so wrapped up in my own selfish fears I pushed everything I thought and felt in that moment away. I was spiraling out of control and couldn't deal with anything else. And I knew Julia would take care of her, would comfort her better than I ever could."

Cuddy had no idea what this had to do with him deciding to detox. This was all so confusing, and upsetting. That experience had been the tipping point for them. Everything had changed when she'd gotten sick, when she'd faced all that alone.

But he was alone too. As she watched the emotions flit across his face, she realized just how alone he'd been, how afraid he'd been. He'd been lost. Totally lost. Of course he was. No one had followed the standard protocol. They hadn't called in reinforcements from family and friends, or suggested he take something to calm him, to offset the emotions that might send him back into an addiction…or worse. At least she was given sedatives. He was abandoned…and then he broke.

"I remembered her eyes that day when I was in prison, remembered the look on her face," he said. "She didn't deserve to know that kind of fear. I thought it that night. It was part of the reason I couldn't hold it together."

Cuddy's eyes pooled with tears.

"She didn't deserve to hurt like that," he said. "She deserved better than what was happening, than what I was giving. She deserved to be happy."

His eyes locked with hers. "Nothing that little girl had ever done – or could do – made her deserving of the pain and loss she was facing," he said. "It suddenly dawned on me I didn't deserve it either."

Her brows furrowed, but her eyes didn't move from his. "I was just a little boy," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "I deserved better, too."

The tears broke free from her lids and rolled down her cheeks. He looked away, uncertain of what to say now, what to do. That was his epiphany. That's what she wanted to know. That was all she wanted from him.

"Hey, pal," the cab driver called out. "I'm gonna have to charge you if I wait any longer."

House grimaced.

"Where will you go?" Cuddy asked.

She needed to know. He was leaving too soon. They weren't finished.

_We're not finished. We're not finished._

"Home," he said. "I'm living over by the University. It's close to the research lab."

He handed her the card in his hand. It was a little worse for wear now that he'd been gripping it in his hand for so long.

Cuddy read the address. He was living here. In Minnesota. He was working in the research lab on the muscle regeneration and stem cell trials that had ultimately given him back his leg.

"I won't bother you, Cuddy," he said. "I won't push you to see me again."

She stared up at him.

"But if you ever need anything, you can call me," he said awkwardly, uncomfortably. He was trying so hard.

Her eyes searched his. _What did he need? What did he need from her that he wasn't getting?_

"You know, if you need help picking out lingerie or something," he waggled his brows.

Cuddy let out a short laugh.

He brought his hand up to her face and wiped a tear from her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Cuddy," he said. "I wish I'd been enough."

_You were._

She was drowning. In his eyes, his touch. In the memories of what was, and the wish for…more.

She kissed him. She couldn't stop herself. She stepped forward, reached for his neck and pulled him down to her.

It was soft kiss, a light touch of the lips, but it was her undoing. It burned. The fire that shot through her system was a jolt to her already shattered nerves. She gasped for air as she pulled away from him, suddenly feeling dizzy and faint.

He stared at her, shocked and uncertain. Confused.

"Goodbye, House," she said. "Be happy. You do deserve it."

She turned to leave, ready to run and hide. She needed to find a corner to crawl into and just cry.

House grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him. Cuddy gasped.

And then his mouth was on hers. He kissed her hard. His tongue took advantage of her surprise and invaded her lips, seeking and exploring, devouring. Memorizing. His mouth moved over hers with slow, deliberate strokes that drank in her very essence.

Then he was gone, sliding into the back seat and slamming the door behind him. She sobbed as the cab drove away.

He hadn't looked back. He hadn't looked at her. He wouldn't look back. He was leaving.

_Why do you care if I'm happy?_

She heard his voice echo from the past.

_Are you screwing with me?_

_Do you think I can fix myself?_

_Why do you care?_

Cuddy closed her eyes as the pieces fell into place.

For a hurt and lonely boy who needed love and acceptance, those answers were validation. For a man of puzzles who'd never received that validation, those answers were everything.

"I deserved better too," he'd said. And that was the root of it.

House was wounded, shamed by his father. Though his mother was gentle and loving, telling him he was perfect, she hadn't honored his real identity or his reality. In ignoring his experience and his pain, she'd distorted his idea of love and self. She'd left him with a lifelong, deep yearning for a gratifying connection to the world and a longing for a safe, secure love.

She remembered her conversation with Meaghan: "He wanted something; he was demanding something he wasn't getting, something he really needed. What was it?"

Validation. He needed to know his thoughts and feelings, his responses were valid. Not as a doctor, but as a man, the man in her life, her man.

_What did he need so much?_

He needed to know "why." Why did she love him? Why did she want him? Why was she there, with him, for him? Why?

Cuddy felt her chest tighten as the full impact of this realization hit her.

She'd told him she didn't want to love him, but she couldn't help herself. She'd played into his shame.

"I can do better." He'd said those words so many times. Even as she'd left him.

_I wish I'd been enough._

Cuddy looked down at the card in her hand. He wasn't far from her; he was only about 20 minutes away. She flipped the card over to look at the back, expecting a logo or information on the research. Instead, she found a handwritten note.

_Anything. Anytime. Always._

_Love, House_


	6. Chapter 6

_Cheese Alert! For a rather intense story, I'm afraid it's ending with quite a bit of fluff. Maybe that's a good thing; maybe not. But after the crap TPTB put us through, I think we're due for a happy ending. _

_Disclaimer: It is soooo obvious I'm not connected with the show._

**Last Chance – Epilogue**

She was there. He'd seen her and Rachel on the playground while he was running the track.

House guzzled the last of the water, tossed the bottle in the trash and went to sit down in the grass between the lake and the walking path.

It had been three weeks since he'd seen her. Three weeks since he'd kissed her goodbye, since he'd let himself hope.

"Be happy," she'd said.

Was that even possible for a man like him? Was it possible after all he'd done?

He'd begun to accept his fate. Over the years he'd come to realize he was more adaptable than he'd thought, which was ironic considering how many years he'd fought any kind of change in his life. But there was just so much he couldn't control. As much as he tried to fight it and manipulate his way around it, some storms were just going to rip through his life, through him. He'd finally begun to accept that. He'd even started to think he could be content in the restlessness, comfortable in the discomfort. Until he'd seen her again.

She had a way of occupying him. Not just his thoughts, but his entire being. She made him want more. She made him want to be more.

House stretched out on the grass, resting his hands on his stomach as he looked up at the clouds. He did this as a child. He used to spend hours looking up at the sky, thinking, analyzing, searching for answers. He could still identify the types of clouds; classify them as cumulus, stratus, cirrus or nimbus. He could still make out shapes in those clouds, see the art within the science. He could also still imagine other worlds beyond those clouds. Even after all these years, he could still dream. Sometimes he even managed not to hate himself for those dreams.

"That one looks like an elephant."

She was there.

He'd heard her, felt her presence in the distance. He'd smelled her distinct fragrance in the air around him as she'd approached. He'd felt that emotional duplicity of anxiety and arousal that existed in her presence.

"Like the elephant in the room?" he asked as she sat down beside him.

"If it's in the park is it harder to ignore?"

She lay down next to him and he felt his heart skip a beat.

"Impossible to ignore," he said. "Like your ass."

She closed her eyes and tried not to respond, but he saw the smirk she was fighting.

"You've been stalking me for two weeks."

"Three weeks," she corrected. "I've planned our park visits around your run since the weekend after you left the hospital."

He turned his head to look at her. "Why?"

"I was considering my options."

"It took three weeks to pick an option?"

"Unlike you, I don't have balls to play with that help me decide."

"You could play with mine anytime."

She gave him a crooked grin and looked back up at the sky.

He followed her lead. It was probably safer than looking at her. She was like a drug to him. Even in her yoga pants and t-shirt, with her hair curling wild around her face, she was stunning. It was just her way. He felt himself getting high just being with her.

"Anything?" she suddenly asked. "Anytime?"

He looked at her again, understanding she was quoting his note. "Always."

She bit on her lower lip. She was nervous.

"Why are you here, Cuddy?"

_Why?_

There was the opening. She'd hoped there'd be one, worried over creating one. She wanted tell him what he so desperately needed to hear, even though she suspected he had long ago buried the desire, filing it away as an impossible dream.

"Because when you opened your eyes in that emergency room, I came to life," she said.

He stared at her, surprised and uncertain.

She was staring up at the sky, but she wasn't seeing. Her mind was slipping into a memory. He could see it, feel it.

"You destroyed me that day," she said. "You didn't just crash into my home; you crushed every belief I had in myself, everything I thought I knew about you, about us. It was all destroyed. I couldn't trust myself. I couldn't trust my heart."

House looked away. He didn't want to hear this, didn't want to feel the blows to his heart as she remembered what he'd done. He was already beaten, broken. He'd only just started to rebuild; he didn't want to go through this again, to relive the pain. But he knew he needed to hear it. He needed to hear her out, let her release the demons and pummel him if she needed. He owed her that.

"I'm here because I think you need to know something," she said.

He braced himself, looking for a cloud to hold his focus, a metaphorical pillow to soften the blow.

"You make me insane," she said. "From the first day I met you in that college bookstore you've kept me off balance. I feel insecure and afraid, out of my element. I question everything. I doubt everything…and yet I am more myself with you than anyone else in this world."

He jerked his head around to look at her again. He couldn't have heard her right.

"You make me look at things in ways I would never consider, evaluate what's real and imagine what's not. You make me laugh and hope and dream. You help me not take life so seriously."

She turned to look at him then and their eyes locked.

"You were my hero," she said with a sincerity that surprised him. "You were always protective of me. You kept my secrets and defended me, even if it was in the most unorthodox ways possible I felt safe with you and depended on you. I always found comfort in that."

House felt his stomach flip, his chest tighten as the sense of pride and shame battled within him. She'd seen his heart; she had understood. He'd ruined it. He'd screwed it up like he always did.

She sat up and reached out to him, placing her hand on his jaw.

"That day was the anomaly," she said. "Our truth was in all the other days. It's screwed up and crazy and no one understands it because it makes no sense at all, but it's our truth."

Her lips touched his in a kiss so feather light he could have missed it, but his senses were on high alert, his nerves raw. He reached out to touch her, to draw her near. But she was pulling away. Walking away.

She was leaving. She was walking away. Again.

It was expected. The greater surprise was that she'd loved him in the first place, not that she'd realized the error of her ways.

He hurt.

_Pain happens when you care._

He looked back up into the sky, staring at the clouds. The elephant cloud. It was breaking up, losing its shape. It was distorted now. How ironic. Acknowledging the elephant doesn't make it go away, it just turns it into something different. Something new.

House sat up suddenly, his eyes shifting back and forth as thoughts in his head began to rearrange and move like puzzle pieces searching for the right fit.

She was walking away.

_New image. _

She always walked away when she didn't know what to do.

_New vision._

She paced, and thought.

_New hope._

She tried to reconcile what WAS with what COULD BE.

House looked in the direction she'd been walking, staring at her retreating back.

_New dream._

She looked for him.

_How do you shift to something new?_

Why was she leaving? Why did she come to see him only to leave again? Why did she open her heart only to run away? What was he missing? What did she need?

_You can't love someone without making yourself open to their problems…_

She accepted him in all his damage, with all his issues and flaws.

Cuddy increased her pace, setting off into a jog.

_What you want, you run away from…_

"Shit!" he exclaimed. He was never so happy to have his leg function back as now, when he took off running after her.

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

Cuddy had barely made it around the bend when she heard the steps pounding up behind her. She started to move to the side of the path so the runner could pass, but then gasped when two arms snaked around her and slung her in the air.

She tried to scream, but the air was knocked out of her as she was dropped on the ground beneath the trees.

Then he was on her.

House.

His body pressed against her, his chest against hers, his hips between her thighs. He kissed her hard on the mouth and quickly pulled away.

"I love you," he said.

And kissed her again, longer this time. Deeper.

"I love you," he said against her lips.

She opened her mouth to respond, but his tongue slipped between her lips and tangled with hers. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. She could only feel. Feel his heart pounding against her chest, his hands lightly trembling against her skin.

"I love you," he said it again as he tilted his head to the other side and kissed her again. And again. And again.

Her arms wrapped around him; her hands gripped him. She could feel his growing erection as he drove his hips into her and she wrapped her legs around him.

He pulled back from her and she opened her eyes to find him, seek him. He pounded his hips hard into her; the clothes that separated them did nothing to conceal their desire. She felt him at her core.

"I love you," he repeated again.

She felt herself drowning in those clear, blue eyes, so open and vulnerable, searching for hope.

"I'm here with you," he said. "I'm with you."

That was all she wanted wasn't it? Him? That was what she needed, for him to be there with her, to do life with her? Even if he was a complete mess, even if they were a complete mess.

There was a catcall behind them and some giggling in the distance. Cuddy looked away from him, embarrassed and uncomfortable. He could see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

"Get off me, you pervert," she said, lightly pushing him to the side.

He watched her as she stood and brushed the dirt off her pants, keeping her eyes averted as she tried to compose herself.

"I need to go check on Rachel," she said. "Meaghan's watching her, but I'm sure they're starting to wonder where I am."

"You're running."

He stood to face her.

"We're not doing this here," she told him in a hushed tone as she turned away.

He couldn't help but watch the sway of her hips. He watched her walk away, and grinned. There was extra swing in those hips.

"But we are doing it?"

"Not if you keep standing there like an idiot," she tossed over her shoulders.

He was by her side in seconds, walking with hope, with his dream.

"Do you think Rachel will remember me?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, and took his hand.

House smiled as her fingers weaved with his. This was happening. This was really happening.

"She still loves pirates, though."

"How could she not when her mom's got the best booty around?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes and shook her head in feigned tolerance. God, did she know how that turned him on?

"Cursed wench," he said in a bawdy pirates tongue. "Ye can grope me now or grope me later, jes promise you'll draw me plank."

"Save it big guy," she said. "We've got a ways to go before I touch your pirate parts."

House grinned. He didn't care how long it took. He had a chance, his last chance. That was enough.


End file.
